


Way Down Hadestown

by PhoenyxNova



Series: Strike A Match [1]
Category: DCU (Comics), Marvel (Comics), The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Mob, F/F, F/M, Love Triangles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-07 08:03:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19205254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenyxNova/pseuds/PhoenyxNova
Summary: In 1943, the appearance of Captain America as a symbol of the United States Allied front had caused quite a stir in the public. What started out as a simple stage show tour used to promote the buying of war bonds and to raise both patriotism and hope in the hearts of many, blossomed into an unexpected phenomenon. The Star-Spangled Man With a Plan was seen leading troops into battle and giving the old ‘one-two’ to HYDRA, Hitler, and the rest of the Axis powers.However, while the majority of the populace could be swayed into believing such things, other governments and countries were not so fooled. America had created a super soldier. Germany, through HYDRA’s use of the so called ‘Cosmic Cube’, a purported weapon of the gods, had gained power sources and weapon technology unheard of at the time. The fear of a potentially catastrophic third World War loomed on the horizon.





	1. Wrong Side of the Road

1937 - New York  
  
It was an otherwise quiet night when a scared teenager burst her way through the doors of the Wicked Suit. She was frantic, as if she had seen something traumatic. Or done something traumatic. It might have been both, but she was too terrified to raise her gaze to anyone around.  
In her ears, she could still hear _his_ voice, screaming at her to come back.  
She twitched, glancing around, keeping her eyes low to the ground. _His_ voice was everywhere, and she was doing all she could not to start swinging punches at everyone around her.  
  
Jessica Jones was here for a reason, and she was struggling to remember that in her vulnerable state. After a full year, she had finally made it away from the Purple Man. She had been his personal muscle and slave that entire time, and she was finally free, but she was scared. She had escaped, and despite how she left him, she knew he would be after her.  
Kilgrave, with any luck, was laying on the side of the street, having just been hit by a bus. She didn't know. She didn't stick around long enough to see if he was still alive. All she knew was she was free, and she wanted to get as far away as she could. She found herself in this bar, and she knew she could find someone that could protect her. If only he would.  
  
She went up to the bar, trying to calm down from her frantic twitchiness. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop shaking. She finally raised her eyes to look at the bartender, but her voice caught in her throat. She was too scared to speak. She looked a little more frantically around and saw a bottle of bourbon. She'd never had a drop to drink before in her life, but this was certainly the time to start.  
She ordered her glass, took a sip, and coughed at the burning sensation. Despite it, she drank more and muscled it down, desperate for some relief.  
  
The bartender seemed to look worried that this scared teenager was in such a dangerous place. She must have been terrified if she was here, of all places. "Hey, are you alright?"  
Jessica finished her glass and set it down, motioning tearfully for another, as though that was her answer.  
The bartender obliged and poured her another glass of bourbon, sliding it across the bar to her. "Is there at least something I can help you with?"  
Jessica took a deep breath and took another drink of the burning liquid, forcing it down her gullet. When she set the glass down again, she looked at the bartender and took a deep breath.

“I want to see Artie Cade.”

The bartender went somewhat silent at this.  
Some young girl coming in wanting to see the boss? That wasn't....typical. At all. Nobody saw the boss. "Uh, Mr. Cade is uh..." the bartender said before he was interrupted by a wooden thud.

"Mr. Cade is...?" came a voice like murky oil from the stairwell. Down the stairs strolled the man himself, clad in an impeccable white suit, twirling a cane and slinging it over his shoulder as his feet made contact with the main level. He smoked a cigarette in his teeth and his grin allowed smoke to escape from between them as he strolled over to the bar. "...or do you not know how to finish that sentence?" he asked the bartender, who chuckles nervously and quickly set back to his business.  
  
Artie looked the girl up and down. She looked shaken by something. He had his guesses. None of them probably very interesting. He wondered if her visible fear was of him as he let his eyes look back up to hers.

"So, little lady..." he said without picking up on the irony as he hopped up onto a barstool to be more at eye level with the girl, "Artie Cade at your service....depending on what that service is. Perhaps it might be best if we adjourn to the new back wing of the place, here. COGGS! Bourbon, two glasses."

The bartender complied as Artie took the items and ushered the young girl into the still being finished back room. All that was in there at present was a wide table and five chairs. Artie tapped the large leather one and gestured for her to sit while he plopped down opposite in a creaky wooden one.

"Apologies for the rush, my dear," he purred as he poured the glasses and slid one to her, "I don't much trust the patrons out there. Gotta keep your wits about ya here." He set his spindly legs in a crisscross on the table and swirled his glass as he smoked, looking back at the girl. "So then, you came to see me? Who sent you? Who ARE you?"

Jessica's head snapped up to see Artie Cade strolling down the stairs. He wasn't nearly as imposing as she might have imagined he was, and her head twitched to the side when she heard Kilgrave's voice tell her to attack him.  
She froze where she was, hand gripping her glass so tightly, it was in danger of breaking. Of course, she didn't want to expose her powers yet, which was a problem when she was as panicked as she was.  
  
He led her back to the back room, and she quietly followed, muscles convulsing as she fought off Kilgrave's residual influence. Her head twitched to the side a few times, as though she was hearing something, but nothing was there. She must have looked insane, or tweaked out on drugs. That was the least of her problems, though, because there was the real chance Cade might not offer her protection. This was her best bet, without going to Fisk, and she knew what kind of reputation Fisk had for his employees.  
  
He offered her another glass and she drank it, starting to finally feel the effects of the alcohol. It started as a warmth in her gut and a buzzing feeling in her head. It was ... weird. But it was helping her relax. And it was starting to help drown out Kilgrave. If that was what it took, she was going to drink. That was that settled.  
  
"I-I-I'm ... I'm sorry," she said, nervously, still visibly shaking. "I should have ... introduced myself. I'm ... " She stopped for a moment and shut her eyes tightly. _Don't tell him your name, Jessica. Don't you dare tell him your name._ "Jessica Jones. No one sent me. I ..." _He won't help you._ "I was hoping you'd..." _He WON'T HELP YOU._ "... I'm sorry."  
  
She gulped down another swig of bourbon and coughed against the burn. Clearly she was new to the drinking experience, but there was something that was driving her to force herself into it.  
"I'm looking for protection. From the Purple Man. Zebadiah Kilgrave."  
She looked at him in the eye, mostly to show him that it wasn't Artie Cade she was afraid of, but Kilgrave. It wasn't much of a gesture, but she also hoped it would show him that she was telling the truth about everything. That she was seeking protection. That no one sent her. That she came of her own free will. Someone in his position, she was sure, was paranoid about people coming in and asking about them.

Nodding his head as the girl spoke, Artie maintained his comfortable reclining position and blew smoke at the ceiling. This girl was...on something. Or severely distracted. I mean sure she was young but...she didn't seem like she'd been much of a drinker.  
"Jessica....Jones..." he replied slowly, "So some....what, purple...man?"  
He chuckled lightly and ashed his cigarette in the small glass tray.  
"Forgive me but you're talking like I should know who that is. For that matter, do you know who I am? I'm not reeeeeally the sort people usually come to for kicking their habits. I sell the stuff, I can't be expected to clean up after."  
  
Artie leaned forward and took another sip of his drink, looking the girl dead in her eyes. Yeah she was probably on something. Hallucinating.  
"And if it's Fisk's product you're reeling from," he smirked, "That's even less my problem. Never seen ya before, you from his side of town?"  
He leaned back in his seat and kept his feet on the floor.  
"Look, bottom line is..." he went on, "If you're seeing purple people, all I can recommend is lock yourself up somewhere for a while and sweat it out. Could be good for ya, kid. But look, I hate to see a girl in trouble I'm not causin, so here..."  
Reaching back into his wallet, Artie began to count out a sizable amount of cash, $200 in bills and set it in front of her.  
"If that'll do to put ya up someplace. Should help. Alright?"

Of course he thought she was high. She stared at him, on the verge of tears and threw the money back at him. "I don't want your money!" she shouted. "I'm not asking for rehab! I'm asking for protection! Kilgrave is ..." _Oh yes, tell him about me, Jessica._ She twitched violently, looking off to the wall to try to get away from the sound. "Kilgrave is the kind of man that can control you. He..." _Tell him alllll about me. See what happens._ "... he...."  
  
She stopped and choked back a sob, gritting her teeth together.  
  
"Have you ever been hypnotized? To the point that you can't control anything you do? You're still in your own mind. You can see everything. You can _feel_ everything. But you can't stop yourself. That's what he does. He controls you. That's what he did to me. He made me his personal slave for the last 14 months, 28 days, 8 hours, and 47 minutes, from the first order he gave me until I escaped."  
  
_Good girl, Jessica. I'm sure he'll believe you now. Now, leap across that desk and put that cigarette out in his eye._  
  
She froze again, eyes tearing up as her muscles started to twitch. "I can still hear his voice giving me orders. That's what he does to you." _Jessicaaaa, do as I say._ "I'll do anything you need me to do. I don't have anything to give you, but I'll do anything. Just please. I'm begging you. Give me sanctuary. Please."  
  
_JESSICA!_  
  
Jessica whirled around in her seat to look around. No. He wasn't here. He was all in her head. He was hit by a bus. He wasn't going to be right behind her. She was going to be safe. At least, if she could convince Artie she wasn't crazy, that is.

This display was....well, the behavior of any junkie. Someone believing any trip they'd paid some dimes for was real. Sheesh, this kid was real broken up. Cracked in the head. It all set him very much on edge, something he didn't like in his own den.  
He looked at the money as it fluttered down from her throwing it at him, deciding it was a better display of power not to look at it. Or pick it up.  
Instead he just looked at her. With a sigh, he massaged his temple with two fingers.  
"Ms. Jones," he said, opting for formality, "Do you even hear yourself?"  
And Artie thought he was the crazy one...  
  
Standing and looking up at the girl, Artie tapped the ash off of his cigarette again before letting it hang from his lips.  
"To answer you," he began, "No. No I haven't been hypnotized. And I don't think you have either. Ya know what I think? I think maybe you got into daddy's stash. Or maybe you're mixed up with a rough crowd over in Hell's Kitchen. Maybe you're a mule that went wrong. All I know is I'm too sure you're tweaking out on SOMEthin to risk letting you have an episode here in my place."  
Carefully, oh so carefully, he put his hand on one of his pistols.  
"Now I'm gonna offer you the money again, okay?" he said calmly, "And another outburst like that and you'll be...forcibly removed. Understand?"  
To emphasize his point, he tapped the handle of his pistol lightly with his fingers. Then he leaned down and retrieved the bills, sliding them to the girl and patting her hand as he did.  
"It's okay," he said gently, "These things happen."

 _I told you he wouldn't believe you, Jessica_. Jessica stared at Artie, almost unable to believe he didn't believe her. How couldn't he? She was telling the truth. That's what happened when you told the truth, right? People believed you.  
She started to hyperventilate as he spoke. No, this couldn't be happening. This wasn't how this was supposed to play out.  
  
Then he revealed a pistol. She had enough experience to know she might be bullet proof, but she was still afraid to test it out, and seeing the gun set her more on edge than almost anything could.  
She started visibly shaking again and stared at him.  
Until he touched her.  
  
**_COME BACK HERE NOW JESSICA!_** Kilgrave was behind her, grabbing her arm.  
Except he wasn't.  
But Jessica couldn't tell the difference now.  
Without warning, she grabbed the chair she was sitting on and swung it around behind her and threw it into the wall, letting it shatter into splinters and leave quite a nasty crater in the wall.  
  
She looked around for where Kilgrave was, but realized he wasn't there, and just covered her head and started crying.  
Cade wasn't going to help her.  
He thought she was crazy. Maybe she was. After all, she was hallucinating. Sane people didn't hallucinate like she did.  
  
She sank to her knees and burst into tears, covering her head with her arms, like it would protect her. She wouldn't have been surprised if she looked like a child, because that's what she felt like. She felt like a helpless child without her parents, and she just wanted to go home. But she didn't have a home. Not one that was safe.  
Nowhere was safe for her anymore.

The swift movement of this young girl caused Artie to stumble backward against the wall behind him, his jaw dropping as she swung this chair that would easily have taken three men to lift...three fairly sturdy men. After all he'd bought it for the purposes of it never moving from its spot...a throne almost. And with one quick move, like tossing away a cigarette butt, this kid just smashed it into tiny pieces...and left a rather sizable dent in his poor unfinished wall.  
He idly wondered how well he'd fare if he noted she'll have to pay for that.  
Then he very quickly decided against it as he saw her break down and cry. Clearly this wasn't just some druggie on a bad run, not with that demonstration...was all he'd heard about costumed heroes running around true?  
If not, he had no other logical explanation for all this.  
  
Something very odd happened in that moment, looking down at the crying girl. Artie Cade, the hitman turned mob boss working his way up to controlling half the city...felt pity. Even regret. He moved cautiously toward the girl, kneeling in front of her, remembering in the back of his brain and in some shriveled corner of what passed for his heart how often he'd felt despair like this. Nobody would help him. Being turned away. He questioned himself...why should he care? He shouldn't. Not his damn problem.  
But then again, this kid could be useful, if he didn't show that hand too early.  
In lieu of that, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a handkerchief, handing it slowly to the girl.  
"I'm sorry..." he half whispered, "I didn't know that....well....that's hardly an excuse. It's all right....here, take this."  
  
He would keep the handkerchief outheld until she took it. It was the least he could do. It felt better to do it anyway...even if he wasn't sure as to what end.  
Artie cleared his throat softly.  
"Let's...start over...keep things civil...okay?" he offered, "I'm Artie Cade. What can I do for ya, huh? Tell me."

Just as she was beginning to lose all hope that she might ever be safe, Artie Cade apologized to her. She slowly looked up at him, tears staining her cheeks, completely shocked that he'd changed his mind about her. She stared at him for a good long time before finally accepting his handkerchief and burying her face in it.  
It didn't change anything. She knew she was crazy. Kilgrave was still in her head. He would never leave.  
  
"I ..." She was finding it hard to speak through the tears, but took a shaky breath and tried to look up. "I want ... to ... to be safe. That's all I want." She choked back another sob and looked down at the floor, unable to look at him. "It's been .... years ... since I've had a home to go to. I'll do whatever you ask. Just ..... Please help me."  
Lord knew she had already given herself up to a man that fancied himself a crime lord.  
  
Finally, she brought herself to look at him, her eyes red with tears.  
"I know I don't look like much, but I'm strong. I'm durable. I can help you. We can .... We can help each other. All I'm asking in return is some shelter and some protection."  
The tears started to flow again, but she tried to be strong enough not to look away. If this was her last chance at having a shot for protection, she was going to do her best to stay strong. But she was so scared he would turn her away and she would be left to die out in the streets.  
  
"Please. Just give me a chance. Give me..." she thought for a moment, and finally, "... two months. Two months to prove I can be worth it. I don't take up much space, I won't ask for any money, and I won't ask any questions. Please."

This all resonated with Artie. On some strange, warped, deep level...he felt sad.  
Artie Cade never felt sad. Not about anything.  
Well, occasionally about having murdered his lovely Ms. Locke in cold blood those years ago, but he'd since locked that away as best he could. But this was all terribly affecting...and of course, when the girl offered her services, when clearly she was stronger than...well, anyone he'd ever seen, that could be useful.  
No, it would be useful. There was no could. This was a certainty.  
  
Standing slowly, Artie helped the girl to her feet and nodded.  
"Deal," he said, "We've got ourselves a deal. This is my turf, this third of the city here. Nobody's gonna find ya here. On that I give you my word, Ms. Jones."  
He took the handkerchief from her gently and dabbed at her tear stained face.  
"Until we decide what you can do to help out around here, you're my guest."  
He looked over at the splinters of the huge chair then back up at the girl.  
"...I mean....that was a pretty clear indicator you're not to be trifled with," he admitted with a nervous chuckle, "Do you....know how to fight? Ya know, right hook, left hook, stances...all that?"  
Artie blinked and shook his head at what an absurd idea that was. Putting some kid into the field out there with his boys.  
"Ah, geeze, listen to me," he said as he cleared his throat and looked back at her, "We won't worry about that for now. I'm a lotta things, but I don't exploit young kids. Not ever. That's bad for business. And just...well hell, kids should never have to see the things we do."  
  
It then occurred to him he was both babbling and talking down to the girl. He smacked his hand on his forehead.  
"I'm sorry," he laughed, "It's not...that I don't think ya got the temperament for it or anything or because you're a woman. And you're not some little ten year old punk from Hell's Kitchen. I just uh...forgive me, I haven't slept in three days. Still a little loopy."  
He looked back up at Jones and smirked.  
"...tell ya what, til you feel comfortable here, you're with me. How's that?" he offered, "You stick with me. We'll keep it simple. Like ya said, we help each other out. Bodyguard sounds so....minimal, but if we can think of another term you let me know."  
He offered his hand to her to shake. It seemed a sensible deal to him. Better than tossing her out to the ravens during his takeover.

Jessica was amazed that he had a change of heart and decided to help her. She wasn't ungrateful, by any means, but she wasn't expecting him to really help. Not after everything he said. But here he was. He was ... rambling a little, but that probably came with the territory of being a gangster. He was probably used to fast talk.  
But she nodded along, shaking her head when he asked if she knew how to fight. She knew how to throw a punch, and that was all she ever really needed. Her strength made up for her lack of skill, as she was sure it did for other strongmen and boxers everywhere.  
  
She couldn't help but notice that he was referring to her as a kid, like she was nothing more than a 10 year old. She was 17. She had seen more in her life by this age than most people did. But she didn't really want to bring that up to a stranger. And she sure as hell didn't want to tell him what Kilgrave had really done to her. All he needed to know was that she had been controlled. He didn't need to know what for.  
  
She took a deep breath and shook his hand, making sure her grip was light. She didn't want to risk a firm handshake with the tension in the air. She might break his hand. The tiniest smile twitched at the corner of her mouth, but she couldn't bring herself to really smile. Not since the countless orders to. Maybe it would be easier to smile naturally, but she couldn't do it now.  
"How about ... personal muscle?" she asked. "Bodyguard sounds too much like secret service or something. I mean .... I know I'm only 17, but I'm good at intimidation. Falls more into the 'muscle' category, I think."  
Another tiny smile twitched at her lips before she gave up on it and looked at him.  
"Alright, so if you haven't slept for three days, it's bed time."  
  
She picked him up, put him over her shoulder, and started carrying him out of his office before stopping and looking at him. ".... Where's your room? Because I'm fucking lost."


	2. Sink or Swim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jessica gets used to her new life, and discovers she's not bad at being scary.

Two Months Later

 

Artie trotted down the stairs, tying his bowtie as he went. It'd been so long since he'd worn any other kind of neck ornament that he could do it flawlessly without even looking at the thing.  
He stopped at the main bar area and nodded to Kitts who was minding the counters. It was still mid afternoon and they hadn't opened because, well, some days were just slow.   
"Kitts have you seen Jessie today? I've got a meeting with Barlow Hatch and I need her around for that."  
"Yes, sir, she was uh..." Kitts thought for a moment, "I forget exactly, but she'd said she'd be around."  
"Well I didn't hire ya for your memory, Kitts, so you're still earning your keep." Artie said with a roll of his eyes.   
  
He prepared himself a cup of coffee, mostly infused with whiskey, and sipped at it as he checked his watch.   
Barlow Hatch was some gun runner from...he didn't really know, somewhere else not the US. Said he wanted to meet with Artie about upgrading some firearms or somesuch. Had the money to prove it, at least, sent along a good faith payment.   
Even so, Artie didn't trust some stranger from across an ocean.   
For meetings like these, he needed his muscle along. It provided two things.  
One: a pretty face to be distracted by  
Two: Jessica was a woman, so that left her underestimated by most men and   
Three: absolute security for Artie himself.   
What were they gonna do, hit her? She'd bend them in half. He'd never felt safer, which helped business negotiations and standoffs alike be resolved in more concise manners.   
Artie finished his drink and looked at the door. Where was that girl?

Jessica was in her room, almost blissfully ignorant of the time. She had a punching bag set up so she could take out her stress on something that wasn't too hard to clean up, and so far it had been working. She was able to control her strength enough that she didn't destroy the bag with one punch. An improvement over the first month she was here.   
Artie had been smart enough to see the aggression she had pent up, and she needed to stay cool on the job. She managed to convince him that this was a wise investment, and he listened to her. Thankfully.   
  
She took a deep breath and started to cool down, shaking out her hands and arms before starting to head downstairs to the bar area. She bypassed Artie, except for the polite nod in morning greetings, and sat at the bar.   
"Bourbon and two slices of toast." Kitts stared at her, blinking incredulously. "... Please?"  
"Y'know, it's 11AM?"  
"Yeah? Hence the toast?" She looked at Artie like Kitts was the unreasonable one, and drummed her fingers while her glass was poured. Once it was in hand, she took a swallow of it and looked at Artie again. Drinking had become a part of her daily routine, to the point that it might have been considered unhealthy. But it was a helpful coping mechanism for the time being, and so she decided she didn't much care whether it was healthy or not.   
"So, what's on the agenda today?" she asked, taking a bite of the toast set down in front of her.   
  
The way she was being looked at, she felt like she was forgetting something. She stared at the floor for a while before it finally clicked.   
"Barlow Hatch!" She slapped her hand against her forehead and looked around for a clock. She had entirely forgotten about the meeting. "What the hell time is it? What time do we have to meet with him?"

With a laugh, Artie nodded sarcastically.   
"Soon. And where DO you go sometimes?" he asked as he lit another cigarette, "If I wanted a goldfish for my muscle I'd go down to Kipper's pet shop down on Third."  
Walking toward the door after fetching his overcoat, Artie reached up and tussled Jessica's hair as he moved passed her. This didn't happen often so at least he could have some nudges at her expense.   
"No harm done," he said as he strode out to the waiting white limousine, "If Hatch had to wait he has to wait. This is my town and he can get over it."   
  
Once they were both situated in the car it was a short drive to the docks near Coney Island. It was perhaps ill advised for Artie to take his most distinctive car, but he considered this his heyday. And he'd be damned if he didn't let new acquaintances know how well he was doing. One of the ships was unloading presently and it bore the markings of the freighter Hatch was bringing in most of those crates on. So at least that was in order.   
Stepping out of the car, Artie lit another cigarette and waited for Jones to meet him alongside the other end of the car. He surveyed the crates...they looked big. Either they were packing a lot of weapons or a few exceptionally large ones. Either way, he smelled profit.   
"Boss!" one of his dock men called as he approached, flanked by a handful of other unsavory goons Artie was wont to employ, "Hatch is just doctorin' the manifests, says he'll be down."  
"Well good, Jimmy," Artie grunted, "I ain't got much time for waiting."   
He chuckled and nudged Jones' side at his joke.  
  
Barlow Hatch was an old timer. That old breed of war profiteer gangster that you wouldn't suspect. He was a neat little man, hunched over from age so that he was about Artie's height. This last part Artie made sure to note as he hobbled down the gangplank, surrounded by a band of tough looking Englishmen. Hatch wore a short hat and a long scarf that fluttered in the wind as he approached Artie and Jones and the assortment of others.   
"Mr. Cade...?" Hatch rasped in a light voice, "A pleasure, sir."  
They shook hands. The old man had a good grip, which surprised Artie.  
"Mr. Hatch," Artie returned with a wide grin, "Glad you made it."  
"Oh it was a long journey indeed," Hatch chuckled in a cough, "But I think our business relationship will be worth it. Have you somewhere to sit...?"  
"Of course, right here sir..." Artie said with a "keep an eye on them" look of Jessica as his driver opened the limousine doors to let Hatch and Artie inside before closing it again.

Jessica had told Artie over and over again not to take his most distinctive car to meetings. Hell, she disapproved of him having a distinctive car at all. He was starting to really make enemies everywhere, and everyone knew this car belonged to him. He'd be easy to spot now, and she couldn't protect him from snipers. Not easily, anyway. She still was reluctant to find out if she was bulletproof or not.   
But still, they drove up in the ostentatious car, and Jessica had decided to remain silent about it this time.   
She needed the drive to get set into the mindset of silent muscle, anyway.   
  
When they stepped out, she glanced around to take in the scene. She was sizing things up, as far as security went. It was no business of hers what sort of merchandise was in the crates. She was much more interested in how many of Artie's men were waiting for them at the docks. She recognized a few of them, but didn't recognize others. New hires? Hatch's men? It was hard to tell. All she knew was that she was going to keep an eye on them.  
She saw the new faces looking at her and talk amongst themselves. She could only imagine the were laughing that she was Cade's muscle. After all, she looked like a stiff breeze could blow her over. It didn't bother her, though. She had learned not to let it. She did, however, glare at them until they noticed. That seemed to be enough to get them to shut up and straighten up. She might have been slight, but she could also be fearsome when it was required of her.   
And it just so happened that she was required to be so today.  
  
Her questions were soon answered when Hatch finally made himself known. The men that had scoffed at her fell in line behind the old man and followed him, posturing themselves as though they knew they could take on a little girl.   
Jessica couldn't tell if she wanted to scoff or smirk. That was a fight they wouldn't win.   
She nodded at Artie as he and Hatch slid into the limousine and positioned herself in front of the door.   
She listened in, a habit Artie was sure to disapprove of, but she needed to know how the conversation was going. If it went south, she needed to be able to act. 

Artie had left one of the windows on his side only slightly cracked, couldn't really notice it unless you looked close enough. Thankfully, Hatch's thick spectacles didn't look like they'd really help him to notice much. And the sliver of window meeting sky was only enough that any sound might still be only mildly muffled enough to not sound directly open.   
The old man looked Artie up and down for a moment.   
"Mr. Cade..." he wheezed in a hushed voice, rendering Artie's cracked window rather ineffective, "It seems I'm at a crossroad. I really should have come to you first, given your...firearm expertise. Mr. Wilson Fisk is hardly as highly regarded from all I've gathered, not in our business anyway. He'd much rather deal in...what is it they're all bringing in now, the poppy product..."  
Artie nodded in agreement.  
"Fisk is a uhhhh..." he chose his words carefully, "Well he's a businessman. But he ain't in our business."   
A sly smirk was matched by Hatch's own as the old man nodded.  
"No indeed," he agreed, "And may I say that his offer of cooperation did come with certain restrictions."  
  
Leaning back in his seat, Artie lit a cigarette and chuckled.  
"Ohhhh that's his style," he purred, "Always wants ya to work around his rules. You'll find I'm more easygoing, Mr. Hatch."  
"Well, young man," Hatch continued, "I do have a pressing schedule, I'd hate to waste your time with idle chat."  
Artie shook his head, interrupted when the old man started to hack up a lung with coughing. Quickly, reaching into the side bar, Artie pulled out a glass and filled it with water from one of the decanters, turning back to....well. Not just Hatch, but Hatch with a gun pointed at Artie.  
"Restrictions from Mr. Fisk..." Hatch said as he cleared his throat, "Did also come with a better take if I shuffled you off. He said it'd be easier for a...heh...sick old man to pull it off. Maybe he's right."   
  
Artie hadn't considered this. But he'd given meetings like this little signals, and had taught them to Jessie when he'd taken her in as his right hand muscle. He shrugged idly and pressed his cigarette to the window, leaving a black circle of ash on the glass. That was his signal for immediate trouble.  
"Mr. Hatch..." Artie said apologetically, which only caused the old man to cock the pistol he held, "...if ya think ol' Willy Fisk is gonna give you anything but scraps, you're too easy for him."  
"Well part of it is also that I just..." Hatch quickly replied, "...don't like the look of you. At least Mr. Fisk doesn't tote around some little girl as his bodyguard."   
Artie grinned.  
"Oh....she may surprise ya." he chuckled as he took another drag on his cigarette.

Her hearing may not have been as fine tuned as other gifted people, but Hatch hadn't even bothered to disguise the sound of a gun cocking. She might not have heard it if only he had coughed to cover it, but he hadn't. Sloppy. She glanced and saw the black circle of ash on the window, and panic raced through her mind. So much so that she had to physically remind herself to stay calm. She was supposed to be a professional. A professional whose body to guard was in immediate danger.   
She looked at Hatch's men with a sneer. They were smirking. They knew what was about to happen. They'd known all along. She casually walked around the car to where Hatch was sitting.  
  
Without warning, she punched through the glass, inches from Hatch's ear, and pulled him backwards out of the car. He was kicking and making a fuss, which set his guards on edge, but Jessica grabbed his gun hand and squeezed, shattering the bones in it. It wasn't too difficult. He was already old and his bones were a little more brittle. She held him, back to her chest, hand around his throat, and holding onto his gun hand.   
"I've already broken your hand," she said calmly. "If you don't calm down and order your men down, I'll break the rest of you."  
  
She leaned down and looked into the car through the broken window. "Everything okay now?"

"S-stand down, lads...!" Hatch wheezed, shaking in the girl's grip.   
He was petrified. Possibly moreso than he'd ever been. He'd been told about what happened if you didn't get the immediate better of Artie Cade, but Fisk hadn't mentioned...this.  
There was no reply at first from inside the limousine, but soon it was followed by an exhalation of smoke from within, blown passed Jessica's head as Artie lit another cigarette.  
"Oh all very fine now, thanks to you." he purred as he slowly opened the door and slipped out once Jessica's head cleared the broken window area. He patted her shoulder as he moved.   
He looked the clearly frightened thugs Hatch had brought with him up and down as he strolled toward Hatch's side, the man breathing heavily and squirming slightly in the woman's grip. Clear as day, and at a slow tempo, Artie began to idly whistle 'Who's Afraid Of The Big Bad Wolf' as he moved, drawing out one of his pistols from his shoulder holster.   
Hatch's men went rigid as Artie ran the muzzle of the pistol down Hatch's face and leaned closer to the man.   
"I'd hate for you to think so badly of me, Mr. Hatch..." Artie chuckled, "But this...little girl I tote around with me, as you put it, well...I don't think she likes you much."  
He looked up at Jessica and grinned wide.  
"Isn't that right, Jessie?" he giggled, before turning his attention to Hatch again.   
  
"Now...here's what we're gonna do," he went on as he took the cigarette from his lips and blew smoke into the man's face, causing him to cough, "We're gonna play a quick little game since you and Fisk are such snuggle buddies. Okay? It'll be fun."  
Artie patted Hatch's face derisively as he holstered his own pistol and wrenched the revolver non-too-gently from Hatch's broken hand. He opened the pistol and emptied its contents, save for one single bullet. Pulling it out of the chamber, he examined it and frowned.   
"Oh that's no fun, dinky caliber like that..." he mockingly whined as he drew out one of his own customized bullets and placed it into the chamber, spinning it til he pulled the hammer back, "Not exactly Russian Roulette since I'm not playing....but your boys will."  
He aimed the pistol at one of the goons and looked back at Hatch.  
"So....did Fisk really expect you to take me out?"  
Hatch didn't move. Not for quite a good few seconds.  
Artie shrugged and pulled the trigger. Click.  
He pointed the pistol at another of Hatch's men.  
"Did he expect to slither in on some deal you made with me? Go halves, or...?"  
No reply from Hatch.   
"....oh you're just not playing." Artie frowned as he opened the chamber to set the pistol, all in one slick move in the blink of an eye, then shot the center thug in the head, the specialized bullet causing a scattering of horizontal shrapnel which left the others surrounding him in heaps on the ground as well.   
Artie emitted a laugh and pistol whipped Hatch, causing the old man to spit out a tooth.  
"We're done here, then." he hissed before looking up at the girl, "Jessie if you wouldn't mind securing Mr. Hatch to something heavy and leaving him in the bay...?"

It wasn't hard to restrain an old man from squirming out of her grasp. She could restrain men three times her size without breaking a sweat. This Hatch guy was hardly anything at all. But he did squirm, as most people would when they were afraid for their lives.   
He had attempted to take Artie's life, and it failed. Now he had to deal with the consequences. The way Artie was whistling, Jessica could tell it was going to be something rough, but she wasn't fully prepared for his order.   
Dump him in the water? To drown? She hesitated, but only for a moment. After all, Artie was protecting her, and it was only right that she do as she was told without question. And this wasn't the time to give the impression of weakness. If she didn't take this order, it would reflect badly on him, and she couldn't have that.   
  
She held Hatch in a headlock and walked over to the edge of the water. She glanced around for something significantly heavy, and found it. Hatch's car. She could lock him inside, but that wouldn't send the message. She went back to Artie's car and got a length of rope from the trunk and set to work tying Hatch to the roof of his own car. He struggled against her, but she broke his legs, stoically sending the message that he wasn't going to get away from this, and he wasn't going to survive.   
Once he was tied down, she picked the entire car up and carried it over to the water, throwing it a good distance into the harbor.   
  
She looked around at Hatch's men, and they backed away from her. She was a freak, and they weren't paid enough to deal with a freak. She quietly walked back over to Artie and leaned against the car.   
"Sorry about the window," she said at last. "I wanted to catch him by surprise. He wasn't sitting by the door." She sighed and looked out at the water, where she was sure either the impact had killed Hatch, or the weight of the water had. It had only been a couple of months since she had started to work for Artie, but this wasn't the first person she had killed. It was just the first old man. She wasn't sure how she felt about it, and she didn't think she would know for a long time. It wasn't something she could get used to.

Artie watched in pure cool, half lidded eyes as Jones went about carrying his orders through.   
It wasn't until she dragged the old man to the empty car that had been waiting for him.   
She broke his legs.   
She grabbed a length of rope from Artie's car.  
She bound the old codger to the roof...!  
  
His expression brightened to sheer wonder as she went about her work. His smile exploded when she threw the car, Hatch and all, into the water.  
His cackle was sheer joy as Artie clapped.   
"Ohhhhh!" he laughed, "You're perfect! SO incredibly perfect...!"  
And it was true. That's what he thought, in that moment and plenty of others in her past with him. She was so strong. The perfect definition of muscle at his back. But more than that, he'd begun to genuinely care for her. And it made what passed for his heart melt to know that she looked so much, to his mind, like Artie's daughter might look....if Locke were still alive.  
  
Artie chuckled and hugged Jessica tightly when she approached again shaking his head at her apology.  
"Nahhh screw the window," he said, waving it off, "Easily replaced."  
He began to pet her hair for a moment before he did indeed turn to examine the smashed window of his car. Eventually he shrugged.  
"No harm done, Jessie!" he grinned, "And God damn it you've earned something for such an efficient job today. Let me pay you SOMEthing finally, come on...pleeeeeeease?"

Jessica stared out at the water and watched as it stopped rippling, slowly growing more still until the natural waves were the only disturbances. She felt horrified with herself. Not because this was her first time killing. It wasn't. No, because killing was getting easier to do. She was starting to think of it as just another chore. She tried to brush it off, but it was hard to do.   
She used to be a hero. She used to save people's lives. Now she profited in taking them away. And for what? Because she was in hiding? Because she was afraid of a shadow?   
  
She was jolted from her thoughts when Artie threw his arms around her and hugged her, chuckling.   
"You realize if you pay me, I'm just gonna turn around and spend it to buy parts to fix up your car," she said. "Honestly. What am I supposed to do with money? I get free drinks, free housing, and I hate shopping."   
  
She sighed, though, knowing that this conversation would just keep coming up until she agreed to let him pay her. And the more she thought about it, the more she realized she could maybe even start a hobby. She joked about fixing up Artie's car, but she knew she could do it. Or, at least, she knew she could figure out how to do it.   
Maybe she would take up photography, or guitar lessons. Not having to worry about Kilgrave took a load off her mind, and she could use those parts of her mind to learn new things. Maybe it would be a less destructive way of healing from her trauma. That's what a therapist would say, right?   
  
She shook her head and chuckled. "Alright, fine. I'll let you pay me. But nothing extravagant. I don't need a lot of money."   
Finally, she managed a smile in his direction and nudged him.   
"Maybe enough to get a project car and a camera. To start me out on my new hobbyist path."


End file.
